The Moment I Knew
by Dark3Star
Summary: John/Sherlock Established relationship. John and Sherlock have been together for almost five years now. Sherlock is not as affectionate as he once was and John starts to wonder if this is really what he wants. Reviews and plot suggestions welcome!
1. Doubts

Chapter One: Doubts

John sighed and looked down at Sherlock's bare back. He ached to run his hands across it. Even more, he wanted to curl around Sherlock and hold him close. Only his knowledge of Sherlock's reaction stopped him…stopped him almost every time. Sherlock's muscles would tense up and he'd shrug John off, claiming he couldn't sleep like that. Then Sherlock would get up and putter around with his experiments…

John turned his face away from Sherlock and stared morosely at the wall. You would think that he'd be happy. Sherlock was his lover and boyfriend of many years now—took them long enough to get together in the first place. It was almost ten years since they first met and five of them had been spent together as a couple.

John heaved himself out of their bed, his cold feet stealing as silently as they could across the floor. He made himself tea in practiced silence. The last thing he wanted to do now was wake Sherlock up. Lord knows he didn't get enough sleep as is. John wrapped his cold fingers around the steaming mug as the tea brewed. He really should have toast or something, but he couldn't muster the appetite. That had been the norm lately. Even Lestrade had commented that John was looking a bit thin.

John lifted the teabag out of the mug when it was time and took a long sip. He closed his eyes as he did so, just focusing on the warmth. How did they end up like this? They had been so _happy_ when they started out.

It had all started when Sherlock returned from the dead. There had been some tense conversations and John had wanted to hit him, but this all came after John had nearly tackled Sherlock to the ground in a hug/kiss. He hadn't been able to help himself. After some discussion…and other things, they had resumed their partnership as lovers instead of friends.

Sherlock had still been Sherlock, he always would be, but that was fine. John loved the chase and the game every bit as much as Sherlock. Only now when they finished a case there was more to look forward to back at the flat.

John smiled to himself remembering Sherlock kissing him breathless. John's smile fell as he thought about their present. Sherlock didn't kiss him anymore, at least not properly. They shared a dozen quick pecs in a day, but they never shared intimate kisses anymore. And what little other physical affection they'd engaged in outside of sex had also faded away. Sherlock was never very affectionate, and that was fine, but never was a bit hard on John.

John had asked Sherlock why, once, and Sherlock had given his patent reply. "Boring." Kissing and cuddling with John was boring. That had stung. John understood Sherlock would be Sherlock, but he couldn't even compromise a little?

For a long time John had satisfied himself on the little ways Sherlock showed he cared. The sometimes contained experiments, the knowing looks, and the occasional brush of Sherlock's hand on John's shoulder.

They still had sex, but it was perfunctory and quick. Sherlock was a considerate lover in that, when they did have sex, he made sure John enjoyed himself, but still… John felt a bit like a girl for thinking this but it just wasn't as enjoyable without that added intimacy.

John trailed his fingers around the rim of his mug, thinking. Sherlock and he had talked about having an open relationship from the beginning. John wasn't sure how he felt about it. Sherlock had insisted in his 'know it all' way that, "Monogamy is a romantic delusion. Mankind was not built for it no matter what people would like to imagine."

They had talked about it on and off and John had come to realize that if either of them took advantage of that part of their relationship it would probably be him. Sherlock had said on numerous occasions that John was the only human partner he'd ever had an interest in, although he had experimented with toys before John and so, had not exactly been a virgin the first time they slept together.

Sherlock wouldn't even let John kiss him or be overly affectionate towards him.

John would be lying if he said he hadn't considered their agreement on an open relationship a few times…more than a few times. He kept coming back to the fact that it was Sherlock he really wanted. And he still wasn't sure how he felt about an open relationship.

'Right' he thought to himself, 'Now you're just wasting time Watson.' In army fashion he gathered himself together, mentally, and prepared for his day.

John had his jacket on and his bag over his shoulder before he heard the floor creak behind him. He couldn't help but smile. There was Sherlock with mussed hair and a white sheet wrapped around himself. "Good morning Jawn," Sherlock yawned into his hand.

John smiled, "Morning Sherlock. I'll be at the surgery today."

Sherlock nodded and leaned forward, giving John a quick pec on the lips. "Have a good day."

John was still smiling, but not as widely. "You too," he murmured, "Don't' blow up the flat."

Sherlock scoffed and waved him out of the flat. John went, his fingers brushing over his own lips as he went. He was probably being silly anyway. He shouldn't want more from his partner than they were willing to give…

* * *

John groaned as he shuffled into the break room, one hand massaging his neck. It had been a high energy day and as much as he loved his work it was good to have a few minutes to breath. Of course that also meant his mind was quite enough to return to thoughts of Sherlock. He picked at his food unhappily while he reviewed his texts. He didn't want them to make him smile but they did. Sherlock was always full of surprises. How could you love someone and resent them at the same time?

Small sniffling sounds coming from the staff bathroom caught his attention. John looked up, brows furrowed in concern. After a minute or two the bathroom door slowly opened and Troy, one of the new surgery doctors shuffled out.

Troy had been working for the surgery for a few months. He was a great doctor but he was shy, so he kept mostly to himself. He had impossibly thick brown hair that was about two inches long so short but still long enough to run your fingers through. He was about the same height as John, with an athletic build. Probably from chasing his dogs around, John knew enough about Troy to know he wasn't one for sports…or to be upset easily.

"Are you okay?" John asked and Troy jumped. His eye red rimmed and wide. Troy had beautiful eyes when he wasn't crying. They were a soft blue, darker than Sherlock's, with little green patches around his pupils that made his eyes look like stars.

Troy sniffled and visibly pulled himself together. "Oh, John, I'm fine." He smiled and it was almost convincing. "Just these damn spring allergies."

John arched a knowing eyebrow. "Troy your allergies only affect your eyes," he accused, "Maybe you'll get a rash if it's bad." All these years with Sherlock had taught John to pay attention, so he knew that much, even about someone shy like Troy. They'd gone out for drinks a few times with others from the surgery and John had paid attention.

Troy looked away guiltily. John stood and took a few steps closer to his college. "It's probably none of my business, but if you want to talk, I'd be happy to listen."

Troy took a few deep breaths and glanced furtively at John.

"I mean it," John encouraged, "If you want to talk I'm here." John glanced at the empty tables in the break room and sighed. "It'd be nice to think about other people's problems for a change."

Troy's face softened and he shifted to face John properly. "What's bothering you?" He asked, concerned.

John huffed another quick sigh and glanced at Troy. "Tell you what," he said straightening up, "Let's sit down to lunch and we can trade problems."

Troy let out a strangled chuckle and moved to sit. "I'm not sure I'm that hungry," he confessed.

John shrugged and sat across from Troy. "Join the club."

They sat in silence for a moment before John spoke again. "So, what's got you so upset?"

Troy sighed and stared at the table. "It's going to sound so stupid."

"Try me," John prompted.

Troy looked up into John's warm gaze for a moment before relenting. "My cousin is getting married in a week."

"And?" John asked, his eyebrows crinkling in confusion.

Troy chuckled despondently. "They expect me to bring a date!" he said exasperated. "I really don't want to sit through an evening of lectures and well meant advice."

John nodded knowingly. He'd experienced how family could get an idea in their heads and torment you with it.

"I mean I was dating someone before, Adam, but it ended. Which is fine, by the way. I just haven't found anyone new and I don't feel the need to rush it. But—"

"But they think they know better," John cut in.

"Exactly!" Troy burst out, exasperated. There was a long pause before he looked up to meet John's eyes again. "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"I spilled my guts," Troy began, "Now it's your turn."

"Oh." John looked down at the table, suddenly embarrassed. He didn't normally talk about his private life…but at the same time it would be nice to have someone else know…it would be nice not to feel so alone.

"Hey," Troy's soft voice broke John out of his thoughts. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want too.."

John felt guilty now. Troy had opened up… "It's just Sherlock," John began, uncertain.

Troy nodded, leaning forward slightly. "He's your boyfriend right?"

John nodded and looked back down at his hands. "I just feel like…we want very different things sometimes."

"I'm sorry," Troy murmured. John started a little when he felt a warm hand settle on top of his. "That can be really hard."

That was it. No solutions offered, no long pouring over the facts. Just two difficult situations and some sympathy. And yet that made a powerful impact on John. He could feel himself flushing slightly and a warm tingly feeling flutter in his chest. It had been a long time since he felt just listened to. It felt…nice.

Troy seemed to realize where his hand was and pulled it back with an embarrassed. "I'm sorry." Troy stood and made his way towards the door, pausing just for a moment before pushing it open. "I hope you feel better, Dr. Watson."

And then he was gone. "You too Troy," John murmured, watching the door close behind the younger doctor. John was smiling despite himself. Troy's sudden shyness was…cute. So much different than Sherlock's brash, know it all, burst right in demeanor.

Right, it was time to get back to work. John shook his head

* * *

Before he knew it, the end of the day was here. John had finished his paperwork—on time for once—and he was nibbling at the leftovers of his lunch in the break room. He had a bit more of an appetite now. He'd been thinking on and off about Troy since lunch. In part because Troy had been a good coworker and acquaintance, so he wanted to help, and in part because it was less painful and confusing than thinking about Sherlock. How many hours had he wasted doing that lately?

He heard the door open and looked up. Troy spotted him and smiled. "You're just like me." He chuckled to himself as he walked to the fridge.

"Pardon?" John asked around a mouthful of sandwich.

I can never eat right when I'm upset, and that always leaves me hungry later," Troy explained. Suddenly he looked shy again. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

John shook his head and gestured for Troy to sit. "I would appreciate the company. Your dogs won't miss you?"

Troy shook his head and he unpacked his salad. "No, my sister is visiting for the week so she's spoiling them as we speak, I guarantee you."

John took the time to chew and swallow before he asked, "What kind of dogs do you have again?"

"Black labs, littermates, one boy, one girl," Troy smiled and John couldn't help but think it looked better on him than the frown he'd worn earlier that day.

They ate in companionable silence for a moment. "Troy," John began, "I've been thinking about earlier…"

"Yes?" Troy asked, looking a bit shy again. John had to fight not to smile.

"What if you took a friend to pose as your boyfriend?"

Troy flushed and looked down briefly. "I wouldn't mind that, but I don't have a friend who would this. They're all taken or think I should just be honest."

John thought back to all of Sherlock's disguises. "Sometimes a small lie can make things much more manageable."

Troy nodded and took a bite of his salad.

"I could go with you," John offered.

Troy nearly choked on his salad. "What?" he swallowed hard and took a drink. "But you have Sherlock?"

John flushed and looked down. "Well, it would be a disguise right? And even if it wasn't…Sherlock and I have an open relationship."

"Oh…"

"Is that a problem?" John asked.

Troy shook his head vigorously. "No, not at all. Everyone has the right to decide the rules of their own relationship. I'm just surprised… are you sure?"

John allowed the smile that had been threatening to settle itself on his face. "I'm sure," he replied. He wasn't half bad at disguises himself after all this time with Sherlock, and he'd be lying if he said Troy wasn't good looking with an appealing shyness about him. It would be a fake date, of course, but John had the feeling it would be a pleasurable evening, all the same.

"Thank you Dr. Watson," Troy murmured, looking flushed.

"John, please," John prompted.

Troy smiled at him. "John," he repeated, "Thank you."

They smiled at each other for a moment before turning back to their long forgotten lunches (more like light suppers at this hour).

"You said the wedding is in a week?" John asked.

Troy nodded. "On May 7th," he murmured between bites. "We should probably hang out once before then to compare notes…" he trailed off, a bit uncertain.

John nodded. "Absolutely. That was we can look convincing. How about Friday after work? That's just two days from now."

"That works," Troy agreed. "Thank you."

John grinned. "You're welcome. It's been too long since I got into a bit of trouble." Troy shared his grin.

They finished their (very) late lunches in companionable conversation. Almost too soon they were putting on coats and heading for the door.

"Thanks again, John," Troy said as they stepped onto the street. "This was fun."

John nodded. "Likewise. See you tomorrow.

"See you tomorrow, and after work on Friday."

John nodded and he was off to 221B Baker Street. This was an exciting little distraction he could look forward to and thoughts of his plans kept him entertained all the way home.

He bounded the steps and strode right over to his computer, typing away with a contented smile on his face.

Eventually he felt a small kiss being pressed into his hair. John looked up and received another brief kiss from Sherlock. "You're in a good mood," Sherlock observed.

John nodded, his smile widening a bit. "It was a good day," he replied, going back to his typing.

Sherlock made a small noise of recognition before returning to is experiment on the kitchen table. He probably knew exactly why John was in a good mood. He was still Sherlock, after all. And John hadn't been this happy in… well… a while.

Sherlock didn't say anything as he worked and John was in too good a mood to ask Sherlock if he was upset. Let him be a little upset if he was. John had spent too much of his own time being a little upset lately.

For once, he wanted to enjoy the moment. It was all harmless, just a little game.


	2. Unexpected

Chapter 2: Unexpected

John hummed to himself as he prepared for work. Today was Friday and he was looking forward to an uncomplicated evening for once. Part of him, a part he wasn't looking at too closely, felt guilty.

He loved Sherlock, he really, really did. But he was frustrated. He'd been frustrated for a long time. Over a year? And anyway it was just harmless fun. He wasn't _really_ going to date Troy. It was just a ruse with a friend.

Long arms spindled around his ribs and pulled John back against a lithe chest. John smiled and leaned back into the embrace. "Morning Sherlock."

"Morning John," Sherlock mumbled into his shoulder. "You'll be home late tonight."

John flushed. It hadn't been a question. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "Do you know the whole story or shall I fill in the gaps?"

Sherlock gently turned John in his arms until they were face to face. "You are hanging out with a friend from work to get to know him better so that you both can convince his family you are dating. Did I miss anything?"

John felt himself flushing harder but he refused to look away from Sherlock. "How did you—no, nevermind. He's just a friend Sherlock, he's feeling a lot of pressure to date and I thought I could help him out… Does that bother you?"

Sherlock tipped his head to one side, his inquisitive expression unchanging. "Is he cute?"

"Sherlock!" John protested, pulling himself from the consulting detective's embrace. "He's just a friend."

Sherlock remained in the kitchen, unmoving. "We did agree on an open relationship John," Sherlock murmured.

They had, hadn't they? John remembered it more as a discussion, but probably because he never thought he would take advantage of it. And he wasn't. He was not. Troy and he were just friends.

"I'm not dating Troy, Sherlock," John insisted, " And if this makes you uncomfortable please tell me. I'll find someone to take my place." Why hadn't he mentioned this to Sherlock before? They told each other everything… He shouldn't have let his own frustrations close him off. John tugged on his coat and made his way back to the kitchen. He grasped Sherlock's hands and squeezed them. "I'm with _you_ Sherlock. No one else. Do you want me to call this off?"

Sherlock raised his head and met John's gaze. His expression was intense but unreadable. "I trust you," he whispered.

John smiled. "Good." He leaned up and gave Sherlock a short, sharp kiss on the lips. He wanted to linger… but Sherlock found long kisses boring. He was trying to respect his partner. "Have a good day, Sherlock. I love you."

Sherlock looked down at John, his lips curling slightly as he studied his blogger. "I love you too, John. Have a good day."

John winked at Sherlock and he was off.

* * *

John sagged into his chair, stifling a yawn. He loved his job but some days it left him beat. He ran a hand over his face trying to re-energize himself. Troy and he were still meant to hang out.

John opened his eyes and saw a gorgeous mocha coffee sitting in front of him. He almost never drank coffee, but when he did, it was mocha. Glancing up John saw a grinning Troy, leaning over his desk.

"You looked like you could use this," Troy murmured.

John smiled, his eyes crinkling warmly. "Thank you," he reached for the cup and took a long sip before finishing, "You have no idea."

Troy chuckled. "Oh I work here too, I know how it can be." Troy jerked his head towards the door. "Come on, my car's around back."

John 'hmmed' happily into his coffee. After years of scrambling from cab to cab with Sherlock he'd almost forgotten what a proper car was like.

They walked around the clinic and clamored into an older, well kept green sedan. John glanced into the backseat as Troy drove and grinned and the blankets and toys he saw scattered there. "You spoil your dogs," he murmured.

Troy glanced at John and grinned. "Guilty, but they deserve it."

John chuckled and shook his head.

"I thought we could take them for a run in the dog park and then grab some take in before you leave?"

"Sounds like a good plan," John agreed.

Traffic was light and they were at Troy's flat almost before John had finished his mocha.

"If you want I can just grab them and come back," Troy offered.

"No, I'll help you," John insisted as the scrambled out of the car and up the steps. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I hadn't seen your flat?"

Troy flushed as he worked the keys in his lock. "Thanks again for this."

Before John could reply they were in a swarm of long legs and wriggling black bodies. "Sit!" John barked in his best military voice. Both dogs, surprisingly, complied.

Troy looked at John a bit taken back. "Whoa, you have got to teach me that."

John shrugged and looked pleased with himself. "Well, I was in the military. I haven't forgotten how to give orders."

Troy grinned. "See if you can keep them under control while I get their harnesses." Troy disappeared briefly into his flat and returned with one blue harness and one red one. Handing John the red harness Troy knelt down and began attaching the blue harness to the smaller dog. John took the hint and attached the red harness to the larger dog. Another moment saw leashes on and they were ready to go. Troy locked up and the group descended the stairs with some amount or order.

"I thought you said your sister was visiting for the week," John noted as they walked down the street.

"She was," Troy muttered, "She left early to do some wedding stuff."

"You're really not looking forward to this wedding thing are you?"

Troy shrugged. "I mean it'll be great but I wish I didn't have to worry about getting nagged."

John lightly bumped Troy's shoulder as he walked, "Well that's the point of having me there isn't it."

Tony smiled a bit and said, " Yeah, well family can be persistent sometimes… not that I don't appreciate the help, I do."

"No worries, I got these two to behave didn't I?" John asked, gesturing to the two dogs who were walking well, if excitedly , on their leads.

Troy looked at the dogs then doubtfully to John. "That's easy," he said, "These two are house broken."

"Be nice," John said, fighting a smile.

"I am being nice," Troy replied, "my family is a force of nature!"

They had come to the gate of the dog park and Troy held the gate fro John before following him inside.

"So, what are their names?" John asked as they unhooked the labs from their leashes and let them run.

"Smaller one is Bonnie, larger one is Clyde," Troy replied, watching them run.

John smiled. "Cute."

"When they've tired each other out some maybe they'll let us play fetch," Troy stated.

John smiled, tracking the labs with his eyes as he spoke, "It's nice that you have them together; they can keep each other company."

Troy nodded. "They're litter mates, brother and sister. I wouldn't want to break up a blond like that. I wouldn't want them to be lonely."

It was John's turn to nod. He knew about lonely, especially lately. When they were on a case or on those nights when Sherlock deigned to spend time with him, things were wonderful. He felt the thrill of the chase or the, in his opinion, greater thrill, of being close with his partner. God he wanted more of that…But every time he asked he ended up feeling rejected. Sherlock either didn't want to, or everything was over so quickly. Was it so bad to want to take things slowly once in a while? To want to feel Sherlock's hands on him outside of sex?

"John? John?!"

John jumped when Troy touched his shoulder. "Sorry, I guess I checked out there for a second."

"Are you okay?" Troy asked.

"Fine, fine. I've just got a lot on my mind I guess."

Troy looked curious, but, thankfully, he didn't ask.

"So," John began, turning to look at Troy "Tell me more about yourself. What should I know as your boyfriend?"

Troy flushed and looked down. "Thanks again for doing this John. Are you sure Sherlock doesn't mind?"

It was John's turn to flush. "No. I mean it's only a ruse, and even if it wasn't we have an open relationship."

"That doesn't sound like something you want," Troy mused, then flushed. "Sorry. I guess that's the first thing you should know. I don't always think things through before I speak."

John shrugged, "It's fine. I don't really want to talk about it, but it's fine." John looked down when he felt something rough brush against his hand. Bonnie was standing there with a stick in her mouth. John smiled and wrestled the stick away from her. "Go get it!" John cried tossing the stick as far as he could. He smiled as he watched her tear off after it. "She's fast."

Troy nodded. "Too fast for her own good. She tripped in a garter snake hole when she was only nine months, she spent six months afterwards in a cast."

John winced in sympathy. "A puppy in cast. That must've been a handful."

Troy shrugged. "I was with Adam at the time so I had some help."

"Was Adam your last boyfriend?" John asked, walking further into the park.

Troy began walking alongside John and nodded. "Yeah, for about eight years."

"Eight years?!" John exclaimed, surprised. "That's a long time. Is that why your family is giving you grief about finding someone?"

Troy shrugged. "In part. Part of it was how things ended."

"What do you mean?" John asked, glancing at Troy as he walked.

Troy looked down and swallowed hard.

John looked away, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Troy shook his head. "No, it's okay." He took a breath. "Adam went camping a lot. He was big into outdoor stuff." Troy swallowed again. "Adam and I used to go camping together. We met on a camping trip with some mutual friends." He took a long breath. "We were supposed to go camping together for our eighth anniversary, but I got sick. Stomach flu I think. Adam had been looking forward to it for a long time… he always wanted to go camping in the redwood forests in California. I told him to go anyway, that we could celebrate some other way when I was better… he never came back." Troy swallowed again. "I have no idea what happened to him. His family won't talk to me. They were never happy with him being gay…"

Troy stopped walking and looked away. John stopped beside him, his face etched with concern. "Troy…" Hesitantly, John reached out and rested his hand on Troy's shoulder. Troy was trembling, probably crying.

Troy took several deep, shaky breaths before turning around to face John. His eyes were red and watery. He spoke quietly and his voice shook. "My family thinks he left because he wanted to break up with me, but Adam wasn't like that. I know something bad happened, and no one will tell me anything…"

John pulled Troy close in a hug and Troy hugged him back, crying softly. "I'm sorry," Troy whispered, "It's been over a year, I shouldn't—"

"Shh," John cut him off, "It's okay." John ran his hands gently over Troy's back, hoping to sooth him. "It's okay, just let it out.

* * *

"Thank you, have a great day," John called after the Chinese food delivery man.

John closed the door and carried the bags inside Troy's flat, towards the living room. Troy was curled into a corner of the couch in a warm looking black jumper.

"Food's here." John set the bags down on the coffee table with a small smile before joining Troy on the couch. The dogs lay exhausted by the fireplace. After Troy felt a bit more stable they had distracted themselves wrestling with and playing fetch with Bonnie and Clyde until they were all tired. They'd come back to Troy's flat and ordered Chinese food. Troy was still subdued, but he seemed calmer.

John chewed his general tso's thoughtfully. Troy had more of a story than he'd realized, and a sad one. He decided right then he would try to make Troy's evening at the wedding enjoyably. He'd been through a lot, he deserved that much. "Tell me what you like in a boyfriend."

Troy smiled and looked thoughtful. "Well, he has to love dogs," he gestured to his own. "And I like a good listener." Troy took a bit, chewed, and swallowed before answering, "Oh, and he has to back me laugh."

"Those don't seem like hard requirements," John murmured.

Troy looked and John and asked, "What about you? Must be a sociopathic genius with a penchant for danger?"

John laughed into his food. "I'll have you know Sherlock is lovely."

"Affectionate behind closed doors type?" Troy asked.

John shrugged. "Not really. Sherlock kind of speaks his own language. You see his affection in subtleties."

"Like when he made you coffee to apologize for being a jerk," Troy offered, then grinned, embarrassed. "I read your blog."

John smiled and nodded. "It really was awful coffee."

They chuckled together.

"Oh, hey," Troy said, suddenly putting down his food, "We should dance."

"Dance?" John asked, watching Troy fuss over a sound system.

"Yes, dance. We'll be dancing at the wedding; we should practice."

"Um, okay," John said, setting down his food.

"Do you mind? Dancing, I mean," Troy asked, looking up from his stereo system.

"No, no it's fine," John said with a smile, "It's just been a while."

"Do you lead or follow?" Troy asked, leaning over his sound system again.

"With Sherlock?" John asked, "Follow. Always."

Soft music started pouring through the speakers. "You can lead if you want," Troy said as he stepped up to John.

"Let's alternate," John suggested.

Troy smiled. "Agreed, but that means you're staying here for at least two dances to practice."

John smiled and took Troy into his arms, "Fine by me."

The first dance was playful, John leading and Troy following. They stumbled a bit as they got used to each other and practiced. They were both laughing when the song ended.

"Well, let's hope we do a bit better at the wedding," John chuckled.

Troy grinned up at him and John heard the opening lines of "Girl at Home," drifting through the speakers.

John raised an eyebrow at the younger doctor. "Taylor Swift?"

Troy shrugged, "It's a catchy song, and it seemed kind of appropriate."

"I'm not cheating on Sherlock," John insisted.

"I know, it's just, never mind, it was a stupid idea." Troy looked a bit flustered. "I'll change it."

John caught Troy's wrist as he turned away and Troy looked back at him. "It's your turn to lead," John said and Troy relaxed. Stepping towards John, Troy pulled him into his arms.

John couldn't help but smile as they made their way around the room. Troy was a good dancer and a better lead than he was. Troy lifted his arm and John spun around. It was just dancing but John felt better than he had in a while. He could tell from the way Troy moved and how he held him that he was enjoying himself, that he wanted to be here. John felt welcome. Troy pulled John close towards the end of the song, then spun him out and back. As the song ended John collided with Troy's chest, much closer than he was expecting. He could see the dim light of the fire dancing in Troy's blue/green eyes. The room suddenly felt hotter than John remembered it being.

John cleared his throat and took a step back. "Well, that was better, I think."

Troy nodded and bent to clean away the Chinese food.

"Let me help you," John said, bending to take up some of the food.

Troy glanced at John and said, "Thank you John, it'll be nice to have a break from all the worried stares."

John met Troy's eyes across the table and smiled. "You're welcome."

* * *

John tip toed into 221B Baker Street very late that night. He needn't have bothered. Sherlock was bent over the microscope at their kitchen table, all manner of John-really-didn't-want-to-know spread out all around him.

"Oh, hey, Sherlock." John said moving to put his leftovers in the fridge, which was mercifully devoid of body parts. "How was your night?"

"Frustrating," Sherlock hissed, adjusting the microscope. "This experiment has defied me at every turn!" Sherlock spared John a glance before returning his focus to the microscope. "You look happy."

John smiled and nodded. "Yeah, Troy's good company."

"Good." Sherlock paused to jot something down in his notebook. "Is he cute?"

"Sherlock!" John chastised, "I'm not dating him; I'm dating you!"

Sherlock shrugged. "But you could if you wanted to."

"Could we not talk about this right now?" John asked, gliding his hands over Sherlock's back.

Sherlock tensed, "John, I am in the middle of an experiment right now."

John huffed a sigh. "Fine," he snapped. "I'll be sleeping if you decide to get your weeks worth of it tonight."

John stalked off to their bedroom, yanking off his jumper and trousers. He left his pants and pulled on some soft pajama bottoms. He normally left it at that but tonight he pulled on a t-shirt as well before throwing himself on the bed. He wasn't sure why he'd ever felt guilty. Sherlock hadn't missed him. He had his experiments to keep him busy. He couldn't even be bothered to say a proper goodnight to John.

John was tired of always being turned away, of always being the responsible one who called if they were going to be late, of always, always, _always_ chasing after Sherlock. Sherlock had told John, many times now, that he loved him… John was starting to wonder if he meant it. All John ever seemed to be was in the way.

That or be a backdrop for Sherlock's brilliant mind.

John sighed and turned his face into the pillow. It smelled like Sherlock, though god knows when the last time Sherlock had been here was. John closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears. Why did they even share a room? Sherlock was never here.

John curled on his side and pulled Sherlock's pillow to him, hugging it. This was just sad. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on better times, better days. He remembered the night Sherlock had returned. After being tackled/kissed by John, Sherlock had nestled on the couch with him and talked for a long time. John's questions and doubts were answered and all John could truly focus on was how happy he was to have his best friend, his partner, the man he loved, back again.

John must have fallen asleep because he woke up in Sherlock's bed, with Sherlock asleep beside him, holding him. Sherlock later made some offhanded comment about the stairs being too difficult to navigate with John fast asleep, but John knew better… or he thought he had. Now he wasn't so sure.

Upset as he was John was soon asleep. He never heard the floorboards outside their bedroom creak, or felt the sheets pulled more tightly against him to ward off the chill.

* * *

**Okay, I know this doesn't look good, but just bear with me!**


	3. Temptation

Chapter 3: Temptation

Molly yawned behind her coffee and made her way into the morgue bleary eyed. She punched in the entrance code on muscle memory alone. She wasn't really awake yet, but she guessed that was her own fault. She should have just put down her book and gone to sleep instead of letting it keep her up into the wee hours of the morning.

Molly went about putting her lunch and personal affects away, then gathered her lab materials. She was just tugging on her lab coat when she noticed Sherlock. She jumped in surprise. He'd been so quite she hadn't seen him until now. He was bent, unmoving, over the microscope.

"Jesus Sherlock you gave me a fright." She said, placing her hand over her chest. "I should tell John to get you a collar with bells on it." No reaction. Well, that wasn't so strange for Sherlock. She didn't even bother to ask him how he had gotten in. Sherlock would always be Sherlock.

Glancing around Molly noticed they were alone. "Did John have to work at the surgery?" she asked. Silence. Molly crossed her arms and huffed, annoyed. "I'm only asking because he's normally right here with you." Silence. Molly rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. You really are impossible sometimes Sherlock, you know that?"

Molly began to lay out her tools when Sherlock finally spoke. "John is going to a wedding today with a coworker. They are going to pretend to be a couple to quite the misgivings of the coworkers family."

Molly's face crinkled in confusion. "What misgivings?"

Sherlock shrugged. "John's coworker is still not over his last boyfriend I think."

"And you're okay with this?" Molly asked, taking a step closer to Sherlock.

"We have an open relationship," Sherlock drawled, still looking into the microscope.

Molly opened and closed her hands, wanting to put one on Sherlock's shoulder, but uncertain. "I thought you said they were just pretending?"

"Even so," Sherlock murmured, and then he was silent again.

"Sherlock," Molly spoke quietly, almost whispering, "Are you okay?"

They stood in silence for a long, long time before Molly reluctantly turned back to her work. She worked hard, as always, but she couldn't stop herself from occasional glancing at Sherlock. He was so still…if she didn't know better she'd wonder if he was breathing.

Molly tried to focus on her work; there was always so much to do. Some tests and an autopsy later and it was lunch time.

"I don't suppose I could interest you in a bite to eat?" Molly asked as she took off her lab coat and tugged on her personal coat. She was met with silence and she sighed. "Sherlock, not everyone is the deducing genius you are. You've told me what John's doing and I think you're more upset about it than your telling me. I'd like to be there for you but I can't even know if I'm right unless you tell me. Maybe that's not as scientific as you like things, but that's all I've got."

More silence stretched between them.

Molly took a breath. "Right, well, I'm off to lunch then." She turned and started walking towards the door. Years of being shy and smart had given Molly excellent hearing. It was amazing what you could hear when people were ignoring you. Even still, she barely heard this:

"I can't give him what he needs, Molly."

Molly stopped walking. She turned, slowly and looked at Sherlock. It didn't look like he had moved at all. But she had heard him. _'Oh, Sherlock,'_ she thought as she walked back towards him and hugged him from behind.

"You don't know that unless you _talk_ with him Sherlock. I know you find talking _at_ people lots of fun, this is almost the same. Except you have to listen, and get your data from what the other person says instead of just deducing." Molly moved her arms down and grasped one of Sherlock's hands. "Come on," she said, "I'm taking you out for ice cream."

"What happened to lunch?" he asked, allowing himself to be lead away from the microscope.

Molly shrugged. "Life is short. Besides it's fun to watch you eat ice cream. I'm surprised you've never been kicked out of a shop. You know what it looks like don't you? Of course you do. You just like watching other people squirm."

Sherlock didn't say a word but there was a small curve on his lips as he tugged on his coat.

* * *

John woke up and stretched. It was easy to do as he was all alone in the bed. Again. He sighed, heaved himself up, and poked around the flat. Empty. Sherlock must be out somewhere. Would it really kill him to leave a note?

John glanced at the clock. Right. 2:30pm. He must have been tired. He hopped in the shower and made quick work of dressing afterwards. As much as he loved his jumpers it was nice to dress up once in a while.

His fingers looped around silk, pulling his tie into a perfect knot. It wasn't always this easy. He remembered once, early in their relationship, Sherlock had helped him as they rushed off to a news conference. They were still late because when he felt Sherlock's fingers against his neck John couldn't help but kiss him. That was back when Sherlock had still tolerated intimate kisses. Perhaps kisses were more 'interesting' when things were still new.

John sighed again and reached down to dab a bit of cologne on each side of his neck. He glanced at the clock. Troy would be here soon. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the messages. No new ones. He glared at the screen and started composing a message to Sherlock.

_I'll be back late. Have a good night. I love you._

His finger hovered over the send button and he hesitated. How many times had Sherlock kept him guessing about his whereabouts? And anyways, Sherlock would probably remember the wedding was today anyways. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair, but he was still feeling a little resentful. He was always thinking about what Sherlock wanted. Couldn't Sherlock think of him a bit more, for once?

John moved his finger over and deleted the message. For good measure he turned his phone off before putting it in his pocket. There was a knock at the door and John went to answer it.

Troy was standing there in a black suit with a deep blue shirt and a shiny grey tie. "Wow," John breathed, "You look nice."

Troy flushed. "Thank you, so do you."

John grinned. He didn't think he looked as nice in his gray suite, purple shirt, and black tie, but whatever. "Shall we go?" He asked, offering Troy his arm. Troy chuckled and took it. They walked out to Troy's car together, arm in arm.

* * *

Troy looked more and more nervous as they seated themselves for the ceremony.

"Are you okay?" John whispered, leaning close to Troy.

Troy nodded. "Fine. Just, Adam and I almost…"

He trailed off and John understood. They'd almost been married. John knew a thing or two about difficult reminders. Gently, he slipped his hand into Troy's and squeezed. Troy glanced up at John.

"Just squeeze my hand; I'll squeeze yours back. Concentrate on that," John murmured.

Troy gave a quick, small smile, and nodded. "Thank you," he whispered. The music had begun to play and the wedding party was slowly making its way down the aisle.

They made it through the ceremony, though John wondered a few times if he'd walk away without breaking his hand. They filed out with the rest of the crowd, still holding hands. Troy leaned on him for a moment and whispered, "Thank you," again.

John smiled and, acting on instinct, pressed a small kiss into Troy's hair. "You're welcome."

* * *

"Jeez, there are a lot of people here," John murmured as they spun around the dance floor. Troy was a good dancer and John had let him lead for most of the dances. It felt good, too good, to just let go and be held.

Troy chuckled in his ear and John turned to look at him. "I told you. We can head home early if you want."

John thought about it. Head home to what? Sherlock was just going to ignore him again. He shook his head. "Not when I have such a cute date on my arm." Troy blushed and continued to spin them around.

As the song came to an end John leaned against Troy for a moment.

"Dizzy?" Troy asked.

"A bit," John agreed.

"I'll go get you a drink," Troy murmured.

John smiled at him. "Thank you."

Troy went to the refreshment table and John milled about amongst the guests. He watched Troy from a distance. He was talking to a woman at the refreshment table as he poured the drinks. They looked like they were getting along well, until Troy stiffened.

Concerned, John made his way over to them. The woman, who looked to be in her early sixties, smiled warmly at John. "Ah, John," she said, "I was just telling Troy how happy I am to see him finally, finally moving on."

John bristled. "Yes, well, we wouldn't want to put any stock by loyalty would we?" he snapped.

The women paled. "That's not what I—"

John took an intimidating step forward. "Then what did you mean? I would love to hear your explanation? Because clearly you don't' value Troy being loyal to a man he loved for almost a decade, although," John dropped his gaze to her hand for a moment, "Given the state of your wedding ring you don't look too happy in your relationship. Perhaps misery just loves company."

John turned to Troy and took him by the hand, and led him outside onto a nearby balcony, leaving the flabbergasted women behind.

Troy was shaking and John wasn't sure if he was crying or laughing. He looked at him and decided it was a bit of both. John calmed then and looked a bit abashed. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have stuck my nose in. I don't even know who she was."

Troy took a strangled breath to calm himself and replied, "That was my mother."

John looked properly abashed now. "I'm sorry, I didn't think."

"That's okay," Troy insisted between giggles, "She deserved it. I haven't seen anyone stand up to her like that since Adam. It was great!"

John let out a cautious smile. "You're not mad?"

Troy shook his head. "No," he insisted, "Thanks for the laugh."

Troy's chuckles had quieted down now and he was grinning up at John in the moonlight, his eyes sparkling. John looped his arms around Troy in a half-hug, and pulled him closer. "I'm glad you're having a good time," he murmured.

"Yeah," Troy replied quietly. "Thank you. It's been a while."

The night air was chilly, but Troy was warm. Troy leaned up a bit and John met him halfway in a kiss. John pressed his lips to Troy's with a soft groan. He had _missed_ this. God he had missed this. John pressed forward and felt Troy hit the wall behind him with a soft thump. Their lips parted for a moment, their eyes locked, and then they were kissing again.

It was everything that John had wanted for a long time now, the soft slide of lips, shared breath, and when his tongue slid across Troy's John was content to stay there for quite a while. He felt welcome for the first time in a long time.

"John," Troy breathed against him.

The sound of an unfamiliar voice that was not deep enough by half was like a splash of cold water, and John pulled back abruptly.

"Christ, Troy, I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," John sputtered. He moved to pull away but Troy's hands on his arms kept him in place.

"John it's okay."

"No it's not!" John protested quietly but desperately. "I'm still with Sherlock."

Troy grasped John's chin and forced the ex-army doctor to look at him. "I know that. I respect that. I meant we're okay. I've been missing Adam for a long time now… and well, it's none of my business, but you said things weren't so great with Sherlock at the moment. Maybe he hasn't had enough time for you? Or you feel like you're being taken for granted?"

John winced because Troy's words hit too close to home. Was he that obvious?

"Like I said," Troy pressed on, "It's none of my business. Between you and me, I think we're both a bit hungry for affection right now. I'm not exactly with someone…but I'm still attached."

John forced himself to nod. Troy seemed to understand, a little, at least. "I think I should go home now," he whispered.

Troy nodded. "Come on, I'll get the car."

They walked back into the banquet hall to say goodbye and were met with a small smattering of applause. Great. Just great. They'd been seen. John ducked his head and blushed, allowing Troy to pull him along through the crowd.

The ride back was technically short, but it seemed to stretch on forever. Troy pulled up outside 221B Baker Street and idled there. John was going to reach for the door when Troy reached over and grasped his hand . "John," he murmured, "I just want you to know I still consider you a friend."

John winced again. He didn't want Troy apologizing for this; it was his fault. "You are Troy, I just need to get this sorted."

Troy gave his hand a squeeze. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

John nodded, unable to meet Troy's eyes. "Have a good night," he muttered, reaching for the door.

* * *

It was dark and cold in 221B Baker Street. "Sherlock?" John called out softly, and a curtain moved. Sherlock picked his way over to John in the near darkness and stood just in front of him.

John studied the silhouette of his lover's face and found Sherlock's eyes by the light the reflected from the street. He wanted to speak but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to move but he felt grounded in place, held by Sherlock's penetrating glare. Sherlock slowly lifted a hand to caress the side of John's face. John leaned into the touch but froze when Sherlock's fingers grazed his lips.

"You had fun tonight," Sherlock murmured. It wasn't a question.

_He knows._

"Sherlock—" John started, but stopped when Sherlock's fingers pressed more firmly against his lips.

"You don't need to explain yourself John," Sherlock whispered.

John squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden pain in his chest. He sucked in a painful breath when he felt Sherlock's lips on his forehead. "I trust you," his consulting detective whispered, and John felt the sting of tears behind his eyes.

When John could open his eyes again Sherlock was gone and he was alone. His knees felt weak under him. John felt his back hit the front door of their flat, then slowly slide down as his legs lost their strength. John huddled there, on the floor, in the dark, with tears streaming down his face. He wrapped his arms around himself but they did little to ward off the cold. All he could think was,_ "What am I going to do?"_

* * *

**Okay, I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. Truth be told it is a lot of fun to write. However, I am currently on vacation. I normally don't ask for reviews, but I'll make you a deal. If I get ten reviews I will definitely update before I'm back from vacation. Otherwise, it'll be a while. I'll update either way so no pressure! **

**Also, many thanks to all who have favorite, followed, and reviewed my story thus far. It is much appreciated. ^_^**


	4. The World Stands Still

**Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows and favorites! When I started this story I never thought it would be so popular. Your support is much appreciated. Also, a promise is a promise. I had a great response and I was so thrilled. I hope you are equally thrilled with this chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 4: The World Stands Still

Early morning light seeped into the flat and draped itself over one sleeping John Watson. Sherlock observed his blogger from his usual position by the windows in the living room. John was crumpled in his chair with his legs folded up in front of him, his feet pushing against the arm of the couch. John's head leaned against his knees and his arms hung limp at hi sides. It did not look comfortable.

Sherlock sighed, took a few silent steps forward and leaned down by his lover. Normally when he slept John gave himself over to it completely. It was fascinating to see the intense concentration John lived his life with fade away into equally intense relaxation. John did not look relaxed now, he still looked worried.

Sherlock reached his hand forward as if to caress the side of John's face, but hesitated a few inches from his goal, his eyes tracing John's familiar face. The tight painful feeling that had settled itself in his chest throbbed.

_John…_

He wished he was dull enough to wonder what had happened, but he didn't have to wonder. He knew. John wasn't happy. Sherlock had never been an overly affectionate person. At first that hadn't mattered to John. They had their own wild, crazy, upside-down way of being. No other person had clicked into his life as effortlessly as John and little had changed when they finally took that step from friends to lovers.

As they settled into a new routine John had occasionally tried to initiate more affection, and it wasn't always about sex, which perplexed Sherlock and frustrated him. John always seemed to do this when he was thinking or experimenting. Then again if he wasn't doing those he was likely on a case.

It wasn't that Sherlock didn't care for John, he loved him. But what John was asking felt pointless if it wasn't leading somewhere (sex), or if it took too much time away from other important things in his life.

Sherlock slowly closed his fingers and moved his hand away from John's face. John had always been insistent that they both enjoy themselves, that neither feel forced into something torturous, but this had left them at a standstill.

The things John was asking for were not small things to him, they were important. If they weren't, he wouldn't be struggling like he was now.

Sherlock let out a pursed sigh, ruffling the curls over his forehead. John was so grounded, simple, and reliable. How he managed to be an enigma at the same time may be forever beyond Sherlock's ability to deduce. John liked order and yet he seemed to thrive on Sherlock's chaos. He wanted Sherlock to be happy, but in the process was denying his own sense of happiness.

Sherlock didn't blame John for kissing his friend. It was almost physics. If you allowed pressure to build without a way to defuse to would find/make a way. This had been the result of more than a few explosions in their kitchen ( of the chemical variety). It was possible they weren't compatible.

Sherlock shifted until he was sitting cross-legged by John, with a frown etched on his features. This was why sentiment was useless. Humans weren't made for monogamy and thus relationships did not usually last a lifetime. And people were stupid enough to feel heartbroken when they didn't work out.

Sherlock ran a hand viscously over his eyes and scowled as he thought of this Troy. John was _his_ blogger. Even that anger was not long lived, however, because Troy was not the problem, just a variable. It made more sense, practically to cut his losses, but he could not convince his mind to bend that way. As always it had ideas of it's own. Ideas fueled by his traitorous heart.

Sherlock's phone buzzed softly (he'd set it to vibrate so as not to wake John) and he looked down at it. He had a text from Lestrade.

_Case, please come._

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. This was a very unusual, very dangerous case.

Sherlock glanced up at John and hesitated. Normally he would have woken him without a second thought, but now… John and he had not talked much in the week since the wedding, at least they had talked of nothing substantial or meaningful. Instead it was the torturous non-talk or small talk that Sherlock despised.

Also John had not been sleeping well. Hell he'd slept in his chair most nights. John needed his sleep.

Sherlock looked at his phone, then back at John, and then stood up. He looked down at John a few minutes more before bending at the waist and pressing a kiss to his lover's temple. John smiled in his sleep and Sherlock smiled back. He wasn't the world's only consulting detective for a reason. He would find an answer to this…if there was one.

Sherlock's phone buzzed again.

_Now Sherlock!_

Sherlock grinned at the screen. But first, the game was afoot. With an elegant twist he was bounding, fairly silently, out the door. John would be waiting for him when he got back, he always was.

* * *

"Sherlock?" John called into the flat later the afternoon.

Empty. It was sad that he was becoming used to that. Sherlock had never left him alone this much when they weren't dating.

John pulled his jumper closer around him. Everything seemed cold lately. He circled the flat wondering how to spend his time. He'd been at the surgery the last few days but he wasn't needed today.

John craned his head to peer out the window and winced. He brought his hand up to the back of his neck and massaged his protesting muscles. He really shouldn't be sleeping in his chair. He turned to look at the bedroom he shared with Sherlock and sighed.

Truth was he'd been too scared to look at anything too closely since the wedding. What if it broke? Or was already broken? He'd never felt anything like when he was with Sherlock; it was like a force of nature. Maybe that was part of the reason he'd been willing to kill for him so shortly after meeting him. There was just…something there. Something undeniable. He didn't want that to end…

Just then Sherlock's voice filled the empty flat. "Stop it John, get this thing away from me!"

John chuckled and checked his text messages. Sherlock had been quite annoyed the night he'd recorded that. It had been worth it, especially seeing Sherlock's eye twitch every time it went off since.

John's eyebrows went up in surprise. He had a text from Troy.

_Fancy going out for some coffee? My treat._

And there it was. A perfect distraction wrapped up in a recipe for disaster. Something deceptively easy, comfortable. Why, why was it so damn tempting? He should say no, he should walk away, he should—

_Yes. Meet you in an hour?_

* * *

"John!"

Troy noticed John as soon as he stepped into the coffee shop and waved him in. John smiled and made his way over to the other doctor's table.

"Afternoon," John said with a smile, "How've you been?"

"Well my family hasn't given me much grief for the first time in over a year, many thanks to you. Oh, I got you a mocha again, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, thank you," John said as he took the drink. He didn't really drink coffee this much but what the hell. It certainly wasn't going to make things any worse.

"How have you been, John?" Troy asked, his voice soft with concern.

"Fine," John muttered, hunched uncomfortably over his coffee.

Troy raised a suspicious eyebrow. "John I had the market cornered on pretending to be fine when I'm not six months ago."

John looked away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's your choice," Troy murmured, "But I want you to know that nothing can change if you don't try to change it."

"I could say the same to you," John said, a bit sharply. Troy flushed and John mumbled an apology.

Troy shrugged. "I guess I had that coming."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment before Troy chuckled. "Look at us."

"I've heard that before," John muttered.

They fell into easy conversation after that. Or, as Sherlock would say, 'useless' conversation. It didn't add to the sting of any of his current wounds, but it did nothing to ease the ache either. They talked about the craziness that was the surgery, Troy's dogs, and—of all things—the weather. They passed a perfectly content three hours together. That thought left a bad taste in John's mouth. When had he ever settled for 'perfectly content'?

"Stop it John, get this thing away from me!"

Troy looked around and John chuckled. "That's Sherlock's voice on my phone, it lets me know if I've got a text."

"Oh," Troy chuckled, "What does Sherlock's say?"

John rolled his yes and said, "It's a woman obscenely moaning his name."

Troy raised an eyebrow and John waved off his suspicious look. "It's not what it sounds like. It was a leftover from a case. Sherlock met another genius; she was just working for the wrong side."

"Oh, I think I read that one on your blog!" Troy said, excited. "Hey, do you have a picture of him on your phone?"

"Of course I do," John said, "Why?"

"Can I see one?" Troy asked "I've seen a few, him being a famous detective and all, but never a good one."

John shrugged. "Why not?" He pulled his chair alongside Troy's, and opened up his picture files, ignoring his text. John chuckled at the first picture he pulled up.

"Here we have a very rare picture indeed, Sherlock sleeping." John smiled down at the picture, a warm feeling curling in his chest. In this picture Sherlock was curled into the corner of the couch, his face completely relaxed. John had always loved seeing Sherlock like that when he slept with his head on John's chest. That hadn't happened in a while. John moved to the next picture.

"He looks cute like that," Troy observed.

"He wasn't so cute when he woke up a few minutes later," John replied, scrolling to the next picture. "Ah, here he is working on one of his experiments."

This picture showed Sherlock bent over a microscope, intently focused on the lens. John chuckled and nudged Troy with his elbow, "Watch this."

As John scrolled through the pictures it was like a flip book. At first Sherlock looked annoyed, then he was looking away from the microscope to glare at John, then there were a few shots of him advancing on the camera before an all black picture as Sherlock covered the lens with his hand. John smiled in memory of the kiss that had occurred shortly after. He kept scrolling.

"What's this?" Troy asked as a few pictures of John in his chair, looking out the living room windows scrolled by.

"Oh," John said with some amusement, "Sherlock didn't think his impromptu photo shoot from earlier was very funny, so he swiped my phone and tried to get me back."

The next few pictures showed John noticing the camera, John laughing, John, holding his hands in front of his face, John trying to run away, and, finally, John trying to knock the camera out of Sherlock's hands.

"This might be the end of them," John said, "I haven't transferred all my old photos over yet."

But there was one more. Sherlock and John, coming together, eyes locked, smiling like school children. Apparently the camera had snapped another picture as John knocked his phone to the ground. John couldn't remember if he'd ever found this picture on his phone, but he was captivated. They looked so happy; oblivious to anything else but each other. Slowly, John slid his fingers down the screen, remembering that moment.

"John?" Troy was talking to him.

"I have to go."

"Excuse me?" Troy asked.

"I have to go," John repeated, looking up. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I don't know how, but I've got to make things right with Sherlock."

Troy studied him in confusion for a moment before understanding slowly dawned. He clapped John on the arm lightly as they stood. "Good luck, John. I'm truly sorry if I made anything worse."

John shook his head. "Not your fault, it's mine. I'm an idiot." Troy looked as if you would protest just then so John cut him off, "No, don't be upset. Practically everyone is." And with a grin John tore out of the shop, finally knowing where he needed to be.

* * *

John hummed happily to himself as he trod up the steps of 221 B Baker Street. He had milk in one hand and more turpentine for Sherlock in the other. He'd seen a police cruiser outside so he doubted Sherlock would be needing his experiments for a while. He hoped it was a good case; it had been a while.

Lestrade was standing, waiting for him in the living room.

"Hey, Greg," John waved as he walked past the detective inspector into the kitchen, "Where's Sherlock?"

Lestrade followed John slowly into the kitchen and watched him as he put the turpentine on the kitchen table. John paused in front of the fridge, milk in hand, and looked up at Lestrade.

"Greg?" he asked, "Where's Sherlock?"

Lestrade swallowed and took a step closer to John causing a pit of cold dread to settle in John's stomach.

"Greg?" he asked, his breaths becoming shallower. "Where is Sherlock?" John paused meaningfully between each word, on the edge of panic.

"I'm sorry John, "Lestrade breathed, placing a hand gently on John's shoulder. "He's been shot."

The milk cascaded onto the floor as the impact broke the carton.

John reached forward and grasped the lapels of Lestrade's coat. "Take me to him!"

* * *

The doors and hallways of St. Bart's—Did it have to be St. Bart's?—rushed past John as he tore through the place. He'd paused with Lestrade at the front desk only long enough to find out what room Sherlock was in. Lestrade was probably running behind him. Hell, security might be after him too, but that was completely irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was getting to Sherlock.

John burst into Sherlock's hospital room and froze dead in his tracks.

"_No…no no no no no!"_

Sherlock lay paler than John had ever seen him attached to a dialysis machine. The panting behind him alerted him that Lestrade had finally caught up.

"Where was he shot?!" John barked.

"His abdomen, tore right through his liver."

"No," John whispered crossing the room to his lover's side at last. "No, no, no, Sherlock!" John's words were choked with tears as he collapsed to his knees and grasped Sherlock's hand in his.

"I should have been there," he sobbed, "Sherlock, Sherlock I'm sorry…"

* * *

***Insert evil laughter here* What happens next? Will Sherlock live or die? Will these two idiots ever get things right between them? Read next time to find out!**


	5. The Greatest of These is Love

**Thank you very much to all who reviewed, followed, and favorite this story! You're support had been amazing! ^_^ I've never turned out a story this fast and your support has everything to do with that. This story has been a blast to write and I hope it has been equally as fun to read. I am posting the last chapter and an epilogue together to wrap things up neatly. Have a great day, and please enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 5: The Greatest of These is Love

"John…" Lestrade took a few steps closer to the ex-army doctor as though he would put a hand on his shoulder, but hesitated.

"How did this happen?" John cried, glancing at Lestrade, afraid to take his eyes off Sherlock for too long.

Lestrade knelt down beside John. "He was on a case," Lestrade said quietly, trying to instill some calm in the moment. "We were examining the murder scene; it was an old warehouse. Sherlock had just declared that the killer was still at the scene when the shot rang out." Lestrade grimaced and shook his head. "It was chaos. Sherlock was hit with birdshot from behind, a few round made it through his body and hit other officers."

John felt cold. Bridshot broke up easily to cover a wide area in the air, at close range, it could shred a person. Gripping Sherlock's hand tightly John closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the edge of the bed. "His liver?"

Lestrade was silent so long John dared to life his head and look over at him. Greg's mouth was set in a grim, thin line. "It's bleeding too badly, there isn't a large enough functioning portion left."

John's breath caught in his throat and fresh tears glistened in his eyes. Looking away from Lestrade he studied the too pale face of the love of his life.

"He lost a lot of blood, John," Lestrade ventured, trying to prepare his friend for the worst.

John's reply was strained and watery. "I should have been there….I should have been there."

"There was nothing you could have done," Lestrade murmured.

John took several shaky breaths before he managed, "Could I be alone, please?"

Lestrade nodded, giving John a small pat on his back as he stood. John waited until he heard the door click shut before he spoke.

"I am so sorry, Sherlock," he choked out running his thumb in circles over the top of Sherlock's hand. "God, I will never forgive myself…I should have been there." John swallowed thickly. "I shouldn't have let this stupid thing between us get so out of hand. I should have just talked to you!"

"Talking to him now will hardly rectify the problem."

John stiffened. Mycroft. John pushed up off the floor and stood. He paused for a moment and, before turning around, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's motionless lips.

"_Too cold," _he thought.

John took a breath and turned to face Sherlock's older brother.

"I must admit this is a charming reunion," Mycroft drawled.

"Why are you here Mycroft?" John snapped.

Mycroft's eyes widened dramatically. "I can't say goodbye to my only brother?"

John took a measured step forward. "You wouldn't be here, talking to me like this, unless there was something else."

A slow smile spread over Mycroft's face. "Clever boy. I guess my brother did teach you something after all."

John returned Mycroft's patronizing gaze with a steady glare.

Mycroft let his gaze slip, slowly, across John's face, onto the bed, and onto the face of his younger brother. "He needs a new liver, and more blood than they have been able to find for him."

Again John chose to remain silent. He didn't really want to, especially because he knew Sherlock and he were the same blood type, but if this was leading to something, anything, that could save his lover, who needed much more than blood at the moment, he needed to hear it.

Mycroft slid his gaze slowly back to John's face. "O negative is the rarest blood type and the hardest to get donations for, because O negative persons can only accept O negative blood." Mycroft began to walk then, slowly circling the ex-army doctor. "When you first met my brother I predicted a happy announcement, did I not?" A brief, lifeless smile. "And low and behold you captured his heart." Mycroft shook his head, condescending. "You really should take better care of the things that are yours." Mycroft made a 'tsk tsk' noise and John was nearing the end of his patience.

"The _point_ Mycroft?"

Mycroft was behind John now, but close. John could feel the breath of the elder Holmes on his right ear. "I just think it's ironic what a perfect match you are for my brother." A hand reached out and grabbed the right side of John's waist—_hard_. "In every way," Mycroft whispered meaningfully.

John's eyes widened and he spun around breaking the grip Mycroft had settled over John's liver. He wanted to ask how Mycroft knew, but that was irrelevant. If that was true…if there was a chance.

"Of course," Mycroft drawled, "You realize he needs more that is safe to take from you."

John locked his gaze with Mycroft's calculating one. "Mycroft, you are practically _the_ bloody English government," John spoke softly, "If you can do something, _do it_." John took a meaningful step forward so that he was nose to nose with Mycroft. "Take what you need from me," he ordered. "If it might save Sherlock, damn the consequences."

John felt the familiar sting of a needle in his left shoulder and Mycroft's smug face was the last thing he saw before the darkness…

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly. The first thing he became aware of was a steady squeeze and release pressure on his calves. Pressure cuffs, to ensure consistent circulation. He'd been in surgery, no doubt, because even as consciousness seeped back he found it quite impossible to move for a few minutes.

Sherlock used this time to gather information, naturally. A small hand nestled tightly in his. That would be Molly. He could hear Lestrade and the doctor mumbling to each other in one corner. He was briefly overwhelmed with Mrs. Hudson's perfume as she leaned over the bed to press a kiss to his forehead.

"Get well Sherlock," she murmured. Her next few words were mumbled, but he was able to make out, "…another room."

"_Where is John?"_ he thought.

Sherlock concentrated on Molly's cold hand in his (she really needed to improve her circulation) and tried to squeeze. His first try gave little more than a twitch. By his second try he knew he had her attention. When is third try resulted in a small shriek, Sherlock knew he had been successful.

"He's awake!" Molly cried. While technically movement such as the squeezing of hands did not dictate consciousness as evidenced in comatose patients, Molly was, in this case, correct.

"Let me see," stated an unfamiliar voice. Likely the doctor.

Sherlock felt his eyelids being opened and winced slightly at the bright light which assaulted both eyes. "Pupils are reactive," the doctor announced.

Slowly, Sherlock blinked, willing the bleary images before him to focus. They did, naturally.

"Oh, Sherlock," Molly gushed, "Thank God!"

"Water please," he ground out.

Molly jumped into action and soon a straw was threaded between his lips. Sherlock took a steady sip before speaking again.

"Where is John?" This time his voice was steady and clear. Everyone in the room looked to each other. No single person was the certain of attention. Deduction: they weren't sure what to tell him and were looking for someone willing to take responsibility for whatever news there was.

After a painful silence Lestrade stepped forward and cleared his throat. "John isn't…feeling well. He couldn't make it, but he wants you to get well soon."

_Lie._

Sherlock was suddenly feeling quite tired. He closed his eyes.

"We caught the man who shot you," Lestrade pressed on.

"A-and the doctor things you'll make a full recovery," Molly piped in. "Although you'll still have to take immune suppressants."

_What?_

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he fixed them on Molly. "Explain," he ordered.

Molly flushed, embarrassed, as if she'd inadvertently given away the ending to a movie. "Well, Sherlock, the gunshot—"

"Hit my liver, obviously," Sherlock interrupted her.

"Sherlock," Lestrade cut in again, "You were shot with birdshot."

_Oh. _

Sherlock looked down at his abdomen, his hand resting on top of stitches he knew would be there. His face wrinkled in disgust. He wasn't exactly thrilled with having another person's liver in him, but beggars can't be choosers. In all honesty he was bloody lucky to receive a transplant so fast.

"You're going to have to be more careful on cases from now on Sherlock," Lestrade warned, "Getting accidently drugged by whoever you've managed to piss off on a given day—which would be everyone if you're wondering—will be much more dangerous."

Sherlock tipped his head to one side, confused. "Even with a transplant I should be—"

"It's only a partial transplant, Sherlock, "Lestrade explained. "You're donor is…still alive."

_Oh._

Sherlock's face turned sour again. "It's not someone I know is it? Because that thank you would be awkward for everyone."

He knew John and he were the same blood type, but there was more to liver compatibility than that, and the way things had been going lately… he wasn't sure he could get John to _talk_ to him, much less donate part of his liver.

"You should try to rest now Sherlock," The doctor said, trying to sound serious.

"Yes," Molly agreed, "this will have been quite a shock to your system."

Ah, no one wanted to tell him whatever bad news was hanging over their heads…

_John…_

Had he decided to put things to an end while Sherlock was in surgery? Even so, John was not the type to leave without goodbye…The aching tired feeling returned and he closed his eyes.

* * *

Sherlock stared resolutely and morosely out of his hospital window. He was resting—in a chair—after taking a bit of a walk around the hospital. It had been three days before they let him try to walk and he had not wasted the opportunity. They'd all but threatened to sedate him to get him back to his room.

He _had_ to get out of here.

Where was John?

As much as a part of him dreaded answers, more of him needed to have them.

He was just calculating the maneuverability he would obtain if he used his IV pole as a skate board when he was accosted by the smell of rum cake.

Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello Sherlock, dear, glad to see you up and about again," she greeted him as she entered the room.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson. I'm surprised I haven't seen more of you." He truly was. "It's been three days since I woke up, you know."

"And I am surprised I haven't seen more of you!"

Sherlock turned his head to look at her properly. She sounded angry.

"What kind of partner are you?" She pressed on, "Leaving poor John all alone in his hospital room. Why haven't you requested to share a room?"

Sherlock was in front of her, on his feet, before she could get her hands on her hips and look really cross.

"Where is he?" Sherlock insisted, everything suddenly becoming clear. John was his donor, poor, idiot, John.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened in surprise. "You mean no one's told you?!" Then her face softened and she seemed to understand. "Oh, well, I suppose that does make sense, considering..."

"Mrs. Hudson, take me too him, or I will find him the hard way."

Sherlock couldn't believe he hadn't found John during his walk… then again he hadn't been looking for him. Hadn't been bloody paying attention and he'd made himself blind to what should have been obvious.

Mrs. Hudson knew this was no idle threat and quickly looped her arm in Sherlock's. "I have to warn you," she began as they walked, "There were some complications during surgery." She swallowed hard. "They took a bit too much off…well…everything that you needed. John's been in a coma since the surgery."

Sherlock quickened his steps vowing on the spot to shoot his brother the next time he saw him. This had Mycroft written all over it.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson protested, "Slow down! You'll tear your stitches!"

She was right, he could feel them straining. Irrelevant.

John wasn't far, and it took them far too long to get to him.

Sherlock rushed into John's room and promptly crawled into his bed, stitches be damned. John was pale and cold, but still breathing. Still breathing. Sherlock hovered over him on the bed taking in every detail. He was dimly aware of Mrs. Hudson stepping up beside the bed.

"He's been in a coma since the surgery," she began.

"_Why is she repeating herself?" _Sherlock thought, refusing to look away from his John.

"The doctors…they aren't very optimistic Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson warned him.

"The coma has only lasted a few days," Sherlock stated, "Comas can be as long as five weeks before becoming a severe case." Sherlock was rattling off trivia and he knew it.

Mrs. Hudson patted him gently on the shoulder and said, "I'll let them know about your room change." She shuffled away quietly, leaving Sherlock alone with John.

Sherlock adjusted his position to lay in the bed beside John. There was more than enough room for both of them. Also, likely, Mycroft's doing. Sherlock snorted in derision. Like that would save his elder brother an ounce of wrath.

Sherlock rested against John's shoulder but he didn't sleep. He needed, desperately, to make sure John would be okay; everything else was transport.

One day turned into three, three turned into a week. He could feel himself beginning to heal and regain some of his mobility but he refused to cooperate with any of these doctors beyond the bare minimum, and he would not be parted with John.

In all likelihood Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had done a great deal of talking (and/or threatening) to ensure Sherlock had his way. He would have to thank them properly, later, when John was well enough to witness, because John was the root of everything good in his life, and he had to be okay.

One week was threatening to turn into one and a half when John finally started to stir. Sherlock crouched over him on the bed, careful to avoid John's stitches. It started with an increase in respiration, then some intermittent rapid eye movement. Sherlock witnessed John's mouth fall open as he sucked in a great lungful of air. And then, finally, he opened his eyes.

"John," Sherlock whispered, leaning over his blogger.

John blinked a few times, looking a bit out of it, until his eyes focused on the world's only consulting detective.

"Sherlock," he breathed, more relieved than he'd ever been, "Thank God, you're alive." John's hands felt stiff and wooden, but he willed them to move, wrap around Sherlock, and pull him closer. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock rested his forehead gently against John's for a moment, breathing him in. "Idiot," he whispered.

John smiled and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. "Most people are." John seemed to be coming around quite quickly now because his breathing had sped up again and his eyes were darting over Sherlock's face.

"_He's remembering,"_ Sherlock realized.

"Sherlock," John started, one had caressing the side of Sherlock's face. "God Sherlock I'm sorry. I am so sorr—"

Sherlock had cut him off by pressing the fingers of one hand firmly to John's lips. "Don't. We both have plenty to be sorry for."

"But—" John tried again, but Sherlock pressed his hands more firmly against John's lips, insisting on silence.

"We need to have a long talk, John, we do, but I will not allow you to start it by blaming yourself, because I'm every bit as much to blame. I deduced you may be feeling lonely and unsatisfied and I didn't just _talk_ to you about it."

John traced Sherlock's face with his eyes, drinking in the sight of the man he loved, alive.

"There's more than enough blame to go around John, but if it's all the same to you, I would rather focus on more important things than whos' to blame or who did what wrong." Sherlock caressed the side of John's face as he spoke. "It would be much more productive to focus on what we want, and where we go from here."

John rested his hand over the one Sherlock still had resting against John's face and interlocked their fingers. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," Sherlock replied as he leaned down and pressed a loving kiss against John's lips.

John expected it to be brief, it wasn't. Sherlock leaned into him, sliding their lips together, parting them. John gasped against Sherlock's mouth and hesitantly moved his tongue against Sherlock's lips, exploring.

Sherlock's response was enthusiastic, and he slid his tongue against with John's with passion. John surrendered himself to the moment and drew Sherlock deeper into the kiss. John gently traced Sherlock's lips and teeth with his tongue, trying to breathe him in. Sherlock's free hand reached down to hold John's shoulder, while John's free hand tangled itself in Sherlock's impossible curls.

Sherlock regretfully, pulled back, smiling as he felt John incline his head to follow is retreating mouth.

"Wow," John breathed, staring up at Sherlock, captivated, "wow…"

Sherlock settled himself lightly against John's chest with a smug grin, "You're easily impressed."

John smiled and moved his head to caress Sherlock's face again. "It's just, we haven't done that in a while."

Sherlock tipped his head to the side, confused. "We kiss every day."

John fixed Sherlock with a pointed look. "Not like that."

"What do you mean?"

John let out a slightly exasperated sigh before meeting Sherlock's eyes again. "That was an intimate kiss Sherlock. I can't honestly remember the last time you had your tongue in my mouth."

Sherlock leaned back, resting his weight lightly on John's thighs, and grasped John's hand tightly in his. "What do you want, John?"

John started worrying his bottom lip. That was the question, wasn't it. The damn bloody question that got them into this mess in the first place. John met Sherlock's open blue gaze and willed himself to be honest, to get things out in the open.

"I wish we were more affectionate with each other Sherlock. I want more kisses like that one, more touches that don't have to lead to sex, and I'd like to take my time, once in a while, with sex." John was blushing now but he pressed on. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I know we've talked about this before. I know your work is a big priority in your life. And I know, though god help me I don't understand, that you like to get the point of things every time." John paused to run his tongue over his lips, wetting them. "I've talked to you about the importance of neither of us feeling pressured before and for a long time I've felt left at a standstill." John squeezed Sherlock's hand tightly. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, but when I have to hold back like I have been, I don't always feel wanted. I don't need a drastic change, Sherlock, but I would very much like to go from never, to sometimes."

Sherlock slowly traced his fingertips over John's arms, looking thoughtful. At length he lifted his eyes to meet John's vulnerable gaze, and smiled. "I had been thinking along those lines before, but I am glad to hear it from you." John raised a suspicious eyebrow and Sherlock pressed on. "Not that you didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but that you felt comfortable telling me."

John nodded, understanding.

Sherlock leaned over him pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, cheek, temple, and finally, his ear. He hovered there for a moment before he whispered, "I believe we can work out a compromise, although it will undoubtedly require some trial and error, as well as further discussion."

A slow grin spread over John's face and he looped his arms around Sherlock's waist. Pressing an answering kiss to the side of Sherlock's face John whispered, "That would be an experiment I would be happy to help you with, Sherlock."

Sherlock chuckled into John's ear, and it was the most beautiful sound John could ever remember hearing.


	6. Every Day

Epilogue: Every day

"That was a very nice thing you did, Sherlock," John mused as they walked down the streets of London, arm in arm, towards home.

"A bit good?" Sherlock asked and John chuckled at his shameless dig for compliments.

"More than a bit good, and you know it," John confirmed giving Sherlock a good natured nudge.

"There goes my hard earned reputation as a high functioning sociopath," Sherlock lamented.

John just grinned and pulled him closer. It was nice, he mused, to walk like this.

Since their return from the hospital John and Sherlock had spent more time walking when they could, and less time in cabs. John figured they were both more than sick of bed rest.

For their first few days home John had hardly slept, he was so glad to be back in a familiar environment.

Sherlock had not protested at first. Eventually, Sherlock had managed to lure John into bed with the promise of a scalp massage. John had closed his eyes and groaned softly had he concentrated on the feelings of Sherlock's fingers in his air. All too soon the soothing action had lulled John to sleep. John was more pleased than he could say to find Sherlock sprawled on top of him when he woke the next morning.

Sherlock and John had done some more talking too. About what John liked, wanted, and hoped for, and about what Sherlock felt comfortable with. Occasionally they would discuss/brainstorm ways in which they could both have their needs met. John though that was more fun than it had any right to be, but then again so were most things when it came to Sherlock. Especially their first case back.

It had been an easy one for Sherlock but he'd still accompanied John to complete it in person.

Through brief investigation and a thorough examination of old weather reports Sherlock had, correctly, deduced that Adam had fallen and badly knocked his head on his trip to California. This was likely due to the excessive rains, strong winds of spring, and an abundance of slippery pine needles.

Adam had awoken in a hospital with amnesia. His family was quickly traced and wasted no time utilizing this opportunity to 'erase' the, in their opinion, less than savory aspects of their son's past. Adam hadn't remembered his lover, Troy. Adam hadn't remembered anything in the entire year since his fateful trip. A few phone calls to doctors and some careful disguises later, and Sherlock and John were escorting one Adam on an 'intensive therapy session'. (ie A trip to Troy's flat.)

Their reunion had been joyous and tearful, not unlike the one between John and Sherlock. Adam had remembered Troy as soon as he saw him, and had practically tackled the other man. Both Sherlock and John felt that Adam was left in good medical and emotional hands with Troy. It was from that very errand that Sherlock and John were now returning.

They trudged up the steps together, separating once they reached their flat to have a bit of a stretch, and take stock.

"I suppose you'll want to write up this case?" Sherlock asked, looking at John from the side of his eye.

John smiled. "It wouldn't hurt to get some preliminary notes down," he agreed, and moved to his desk chair.

Sherlock stooped by the coffee table to pick up a book he had been reading before following John.

John sat in his chair, and Sherlock sat in John's lap. Sherlock's chest was flush with John's and his head nestled on John's shoulder. John hummed happily as Sherlock's arms encircled him and pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's' temple, before scooting forward and typing away on his laptop.

This was one of the compromises they'd discussed. John knew this position allowed Sherlock to hold his book behind John and read it over his shoulder, something the consulting detective was most assuredly doing. John was free to simply cuddle Sherlock, or work on his computer.

John had thought when they'd first discussed this that it would feel unfulfilling. He was wrong. Sherlock was doing this in a way he felt comfortable with, simply because it made John happy. That thought made warm tingles run over his skin.

Sherlock was also now in the habit of kissing John frequently and intimately. It was Sherlock who had posed the idea of monitoring John's heartbeat and other tells of physical attraction. Sherlock observed the type, intensity, order, and frequency of John's signs of attraction when they kissed. To be truly scientific Sherlock alternated location and technique frequently. It might seem strange to someone else, but it really was the perfect union of their wants and needs.

John nuzzled Sherlock's neck and head as he typed, grinning like an idiot when he felt Sherlock nuzzle back.

Some hours later, with legs that were partially asleep, John deemed the work on his blog done for the day. Pushing the computer back gently John lifted his hands to run along Sherlock's back, just reveling in the feel of him.

Sherlock hummed contentedly and turned a page as John pressed slow, sucking kissed along his jaw. Sherlock gasped slightly when John tilted his head and nipped lightly at Sherlock's neck. One important point they had discussed was Sherlock's ability to be receptive to John's advances. Sherlock agreed that he would pause and assess whether or not he was enjoying something before dismissing it out of hand.

A small groan escaped Sherlock's lips as John reached the inner curve of his neck, a spot both of them had been surprised to find quite sensitive.

John leaned back then and whispered, "Kiss me." Sherlock shivered at the breath on his ear and turned his head to comply. Their lips glided against each other, already parted, tongues eager to explore. Sherlock ran his tongue across John's lips before slipping inside to caress John's tongue. John explored Sherlock's tongue with his own before running his tongue over Sherlock's teeth and lips. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck and moved his fingers through John's short hair. John leaned back for a moment to nip lightly at Sherlock's lips, generating a small moan from his partner.

They kissed with simmering passion for several minutes before truly pulling apart to catch their breath. Sherlock rested his forehead against John's and lifted his hand to run his hands over John's neck and back. Sherlock had always known but had been pleasantly surprised to experience small pleasures such as kissing heightening other, more intimate experiences, even if said experiences were slightly delayed.

John turned his head away to yawn. Sherlock smiled and pressed a kiss to John's cheek. "You should rest," he murmured.

John took a moment to nuzzle into Sherlock's neck before asking, "Will you join me?"

Sherlock took a moment to think about this. True honest communication was the only way to make this work. He wasn't quite done reading his book, and that did sound like a pleasurable way to spend the remainder of his day. Leaning back on John's thighs, Sherlock pulled his book into view. "Do you mind if I read at the same time?"

John smiled and shook his head. "Go ahead. I'll be out like a light no matter what."

Sherlock smiled and, with care, extracted himself from John's lap. He offered John a hand up, which the good doctor accepted. Together, they made their way to their bedroom.

Sherlock pulled back the sheets while John stripped down. John settled into bed while Sherlock stripped down. Sherlock rested his book on the nightstand for a moment before sliding into bed. John had been pleasantly surprised at how seriously Sherlock engaged in cuddling, when he agreed to do it, which wasn't always. Even now John could feel Sherlock twining their legs together, pulling John flush to him. John tucked himself in Sherlock's embrace, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. Given recent developments John honestly couldn't decide if he preferred this position or spooning. Perhaps they were both equally good.

With the hand wrapped around John Sherlock rubbed Johns' back and arm lightly. Sherlock's other hand had taken up the book. John didn't mind, Sherlock was quite good at doing two things at once, and he had, at least three times now, cuddled John without any distractions at all.

John hmmed happily to himself as he closed his eyes. He wouldn't be awake long, but he supposed that is was being safe and loved did to a person; sleep came easy.

"I love you, John," Sherlock murmured, and John could hear the rumble in his chest.

"I love you too, Sherlock." John smiled. It wouldn't always be perfect. John rather thought he would have his doubts again, as that seemed to be a part of life. Even still, John had absolute faith in their ability to talk things out; that seemed to be the key to all things. If John ever doubted that in the future all he'd need to do was remind himself how Sherlock Holmes had cuddled for cuddling sake, because he, John Watson, had asked him to.

John nuzzled into Sherlock's chest, grinning like a fool, and slept deeper and more peacefully than he had in a long, long time.

* * *

**Once again, thank you so much for all of your support! This has been so much fun; I hope you all have enjoyed it as much as I have. ^_^**


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